


Glad Tidings

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam should have learnt to expect the unexpected by now, even at Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glad Tidings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the guys at [lifein1973](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com), for putting up with having me as a lurker.
> 
> I had intended to write something fluffy, but sleep deprivation and alcohol consumption made this happen instead (:

“Merry Christmas.”

Gene stared at the brown paper-wrapped object Sam had plonked down on the desk in front of him with rather more suspicion than a bottle-shaped parcel rightly warranted.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a present, Guv,” Sam said patiently. Perhaps he should have put a bow on it. “Open it.”

With still-wary, narrowed eyes, Gene did as instructed only for an eyebrow to shoot up as the bottle of single malt was revealed.

“Must’ve cost a bit.” Gene sounded impressed and Sam smiled at the hint of surprised awe in his voice. “What’s this in aid of, then?”

“It’s Christmas, Gene. It’s kinda traditional to give gifts at Christmas.”

Gene’s gaze tore itself away from the Scotch to study Sam, his lips pursed thoughtfully as if trying to determine if his DI had some kind of ulterior motive.

Finally, reaching a decision, he reached down into a drawer of his desk and produced two small glasses. Cracking open the bottle, he poured a generous measure into each – one slightly more generous than the other – and placed one in front of Sam.

“Thanks.” Sam couldn’t keep the note of surprise at the rare display of magnanimity out of his voice.

“Thank _you_ , Tyler.” Gene took an appraising sip of the whisky and, with a nod of approval, the rest quickly followed.

Sam took his drink to the ratty sofa where he perched to savour the fiery burn of the alcohol as Gene refilled his own glass. After a moment of silent contemplation of his second measure, Gene spoke again.

“I ’aven’t got you anythin’. A present, like.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Sam had long since given up trying to second-guess this world, but Gene was, for the most part, predictable in his archaic methods, and Sam hadn’t expected any extravagant seasonal gestures.

Gene was squinting at him again. “What you doing ’ere on Christmas Eve? Thought I gave you the day off.”

“Come to give you that, didn’t I?” Sam gestured at his gift as if it were completely natural to have come looking for Gene at the station when he, too, should have been at home enjoying the holiday. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m working, Sammy-boy. Thought you loved all this paperwork shite? You should be pleased.”

The mess of files carpeting Gene’s desk looked more like an archiving nightmare than proper procedure. “We’ve nothing so urgent that it can’t wait ’til _after_ Christmas.”

Gene sniffed, his gaze taking refuge in his glass. “Beats sittin’ in a silent house.”

It was no secret that Gene’s wife had left him, and rumours concerning the whys and wherefores were rife. God forbid anyone should be caught gossiping about it, however, and no one, not even Ray, had dared to ask Gene directly. Sam judged it wise not to change that now.

“You’ve seen _my_ place, Guv. Can’t really get more depressing than that.”

Gene’s grimace confirmed his agreement with that particular statement and he lapsed into silence again for a few minutes. When he finally spoke, Sam performed the aural version of a double take and wondered if he had heard correctly.

“Come to mine?”

It was phrased like a question and mumbled into a glass of whisky, but the offer was so unexpected it took Sam a moment to realize Gene was waiting for a response. Unfortunately, the DCI misunderstood his hesitation.

“Don’t feel you have to, it wasn’t an order.” Gruff in his perceived rejection.

“No,” Sam spluttered quickly. “I mean, yes.”

Gene scowled at him. “One day, Gladys, you will utter a sentence that actually makes sense.”

Sam grinned back, unrepentant, as Gene stood and grabbed his coat.

“C’mon then, you twonk.”

* * * *

The car journey wasn’t exactly filled with stimulating conversation, but Sam was just thankful that he wasn’t thrown against the door every time Gene took a corner. Gene’s driving style often seemed to echo his mood, and ‘subdued’ was the word that sprang to Sam’s mind on this particular ride.

Once they were inside Gene’s house, however, the DCI perked up a bit as he dug out some fresh glasses and joined Sam on the sofa, slumping proprietorially into the middle and leaving Sam squeezed into a corner.

Sam accepted the proffered glass and neither man spoke as they sat sipping the Scotch. There was a strange tension in Gene that was almost palpable, not all that different to the barely-restrained violence Sam had encountered numerous times in the past. Sam both wanted to break the silence and was afraid of doing so.

In the end, Gene was the one who caved. “Go on then.” He didn’t look at Sam as he spoke, but when he received no reply, he glared sideways at his DI. “I know yer dying to ask.”

Sam tried, and failed, to guess the correct response to that, and the elaboration didn’t aid his comprehension.

Gene sighed the kind of long-suffering sigh that implied he must be a saint for putting up with his head-case of an inspector. “You’re wondering why me missus left.”

“Huh? No, I wasn’t.” Well, yes, he _had_ wondered, but he wasn’t stupid enough to pry. Maybe he had just been telegraphing his curiosity. Gene was glaring again and Sam shrugged; if the bloke wanted to get it off his chest, Sam would listen.

“She told me I didn’t love her any more.” Gene’s voice was neutral, matter-of-fact, but he refused to look at Sam directly as he related the tale. “I realised she was right.” He gave a dry laugh. “Not often we agreed on anything. But she said she wasn’t gonna stick around to be me housemaid, not when she wasn’t even going to get a decent shag at the end of the day. Went to stay with her sister.”

What was Sam supposed to say to that? He was both stunned by the candid revelation and confused about why Gene had decided to share. With Sam of all people.

“I’m…sorry.”

“So you should be. It’s all your fault.”

“What?” Now Sam really _was_ confused. “Gene, I didn’t even _know_ your wife!”

Gene wasn’t listening. “You turned up, ravin’ like a lunatic, acting all high and mighty like the self-righteous twat you are and I…You messed me head up, Sam, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Whisky appeared to be one attempt at a solution; Gene emptied his glass in one long swallow while all Sam could do was frown at the macho, homophobic Neanderthal of a Detective Chief Inspector who sounded like he was admitting…what exactly?

“Are you saying that you…?” Sam’s question trailed off, the thought just too bizarre. But when had that ever made a difference in this place?

Gene suddenly rounded on him. “Yes, I am,” he growled. “An’ if I hear one whisper of it around the station, I _will_ kill you.”

Sam didn’t doubt it. “Gene, I wouldn’t – ”

“And now you’ve satisfied your curiosity, you can piss off.”

“But _you_ invited _me_ \- ”

“I said, piss off!”

Gene made to rise, but Sam had no intention of letting him run from this or push him away, not now…

He grabbed Gene’s wrist to prevent his escape and the reaction was instantaneous. He should have expected it really.

Gene pounced, a snarl on his lips, his free hand pressing into the base of Sam’s throat, shoving him back into the sofa, using his weight advantage to pin him there.

Sam fought back the wave of fear and schooled his features into an expression of understanding while mentally bracing himself for the blow he knew was about to come.

When Gene did move, however, it wasn’t to deliver the punch Sam had been expecting. Instead, Gene’s lips crushed against his in a kiss that was characteristically ferocious, leaving Sam just as stunned as a fist to the gut would have.

Sam’s brain wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping up with the action and it wasn’t until he felt Gene pull away that he realised he had failed to make any kind of response.

The number of times Sam had seen his guv look truly scared could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Now was one of those times. Fear, regret, humiliation all crowded into his eyes and Sam could feel the tremble in the hand still pressed against his sternum even as he continued his impersonation of a gaping moron.

Gene was suddenly scrambling to get away and Sam finally regained his cognitive abilities. He grabbed dual fistfuls of the DCI’s shirt and tugged him back down, ignoring the resistance, until they were kissing again. This time, Sam tilted his head to one side, deepening the kiss, taking control, running his tongue over Gene’s lips until they parted and granted him entry.

Despite his previous abortive attempt, it took Gene only moments to get the hang of it and both men were soon fighting for dominance. Gene’s hand left Sam’s chest to brace against the cushion beside Sam’s head while the other slid behind his neck, fingers pushing into the short hair there. Sam’s grip tightened, pulling the other man closer, and he felt Gene’s knee come to rest on the seat between his own legs for additional support. Sam shifted, pressing himself against Gene’s thigh, seeking more contact…

Gene tensed when he felt the evidence of Sam’s arousal pushing at his leg; the kiss faltered to a stop. Sam opened his eyes – when had he closed them? – afraid he’d gone too far, too fast, and silently cursing himself, only to find himself looking into eyes from which all traces of fear had been banished, leaving only stunned awe and tentative hope.

Sam grinned. He couldn’t help it. Gene’s response was to move his leg forward experimentally, rubbing up against Sam’s cock with a sudden pressure that drew a hissing gasp from his DI.

“Oh…god.”

“Yeah. I know.” Now Gene was grinning too as he gave another little push. Sam groaned and only just about managed to prevent himself squirming. This wasn’t how he had envisioned spending Christmas Eve, but found he had no complaints about this strange turn of events.

Gene bent closer, his hair tickling Sam’s cheek, teeth nibbling at Sam’s ear.

“Bed. Now,” he rumbled in a low, husky voice, his breath hot on Sam’s skin. “Bring the whisky.”


End file.
